Islam Rising

by Johnny Jacks

  A frown slid across his face and his dark mood sprouted. His voice was flat. “Later.” Grayson admired Amanda’s pictures, slipped from the kitchen and into his large recliner in the den. Kicking off his shoes, he flipped on Fox News and stared at the screen, but his mind wandered. Amanda quietly crawled into his lap and snuggled for a few minutes before her mother called her to set the table.

  A team, Margaret and Grayson openly shared their lives. She knew the kind of day he had the moment he walked through the door every day, knowing he would tell her what he was thinking once he settled. She smiled to herself and began formulating a naughty scheme to erase his gloomy mood and return him to normal. She knew her man well.

  ~~~

  Grayson breathed a sigh of relief. It was a good night when he made it home to share a meal with his family, something police detectives often had to forego. He downed three glasses of iced tea before he washed away enough of the day to enjoy his dinner.

  Margaret and he were childhood sweethearts, only fifteen when Danny was born. Margaret worked hard to become a first-class cook and mother while he was busy in the Army and then the police force. His precious family kept him afloat emotionally. At dinner, they discussed Daniel’s scholarship and Margaret’s thriving business. They enjoyed their meal, ending with peach cobbler and a scoop of vanilla ice cream, Grayson’s favorite.

  Whenever Grayson got home early, he read a bedtime story to Amanda, more, if she could con him with her dimpled smile. Tonight, Amanda asked Daniel to read to her. A typical teenager, Daniel ignored her until Grayson listed his choices. He could drive his rattletrap or Grayson’s Ford F-250 pickup to meet his friends later.

  “Come on, Mandy!” Daniel was suddenly in the mood to read. “Which story do you want?”

  Once Amanda was asleep, Grayson tossed Daniel the keys to his truck.

  “Thanks, Pop.”

  “Home by eleven, since there’s no school tomorrow.”

  ~~~

  “Oh, baby, that feels good,” Grayson rolled his head when Margaret came to the back of his easy chair and began to massage his neck and shoulders. She tilted his head back and gave him an upside-down kiss.

  Usually when she gazed into Grayson’s eyes, she saw the depth of his love and her heart filled with joy. Tonight, his eyes were flat, adding to her determination to put the happy back into them.

  Grayson felt at one with Margaret; they had covered each other’s backs since kindergarten. She brought peace to his soul. Sexy and smart, she made him feel like the luckiest man on Earth. Like all couples, they had disagreements, some small and some significant, but they remained faithful to their rule to never go to bed angry.

  “Sweetie, let’s get to bed early tonight,” Margaret purred in his ear.

  “Yeah, it’s been a long day. I’m pooped. Mind if I shower first?”

  “Have at it, baby.” He missed her signal, but she knew there was time. “I’ll finish the kitchen and lock up.”

  Grayson cranked the hot water to steam away the foulness of his encounter with his despised legal nemesis. He enjoyed remembering her ragged expression when it was apparent she had asked the wrong question. What did she think cops did when someone pointed a gun at them—ask for a timeout? Sure, he had overstepped the line with his sarcastic remarks, but the drab woman reminded him of the hippies in the sixties. People who turned on the country that had given them so much were a sore spot with him.

  Grayson finished his shower and slipped between the fresh sheets, his tired bones aching for rest but honoring their wedding night commitment to go to sleep together. He looked forward to their pillow talk before drifting off to a peaceful sleep. It realigned his world.

  When Margaret stepped out of the bathroom in a see-through red silk robe, he came to full alert.

  She smiled, walked to the window, and opened the blinds. A bright full moon—a low-level spotlight—shined directly into the bedroom. She slowly twisted her head and gave him a come-hither look, before sauntering towards him. She stood beside the bed, allowing the soft moonlight to give Grayson the pleasure of seeing her sparsely veiled perfect body. Her beauty and the slight fragrance of her perfume filled his senses.

  “Honey, it’s apparent you had a rough day. Want to tell me about it?” Her voice was as soft and silky as her robe.

  His masculinity stirred. He appreciated her gym workouts, which kept her body tight and fit. At thirty-one, she still had her schoolgirl figure. He considered not giving her a true answer. The last thing he wanted was that ACLU lawyer in their bedroom, their sanctuary, but he also needed to talk and release the pent-up pressure of court.

  Responding to Margaret’s flirtation, he tried to sound pitiful, so she would drag out her teasing. “I squared off with that holier-than-thou lawyer, Shannon Fisher, in court again. Would you believe she was astonished that a cop fires back at someone trying to kill him?”

  She hesitated. He hadn’t told her the robbers shot at him. She didn’t like secrets in their marriage and turned her head away for a second to still her expression. They would deal with that another time.

  Loosening her robe belt to let it open slightly, she cooed, “Oh, you poor darling. What did that horrid woman do to my precious?”

  Her sultry, bedroom voice shifted his mood. Margaret moved her hips around provocatively and leaned over to kiss him on the forehead, giving him a close-up view of her feminine charms. Her robe dropped open and she stepped back before he could lay his hands on anything.

  “You little vixen.” He reached for his wife and she stepped closer to let him softly touch her in his special way.

  Grayson’s energy level surged as he described the court scene while distracted by his gorgeous wife. “I know this is chauvinistic, but the problems are exacerbated by her unattractive appearance. Every day, she wears frumpy, oversized pantsuits.”

  “You mean like Hillary Clinton?”

  “Exactly. I swear I’ve seen her stupid black bun shift. It’s obvious she wears a cheap wig. Like most women of her ilk, she’s plain as mud and wears makeup smeared on with a putty knife.”

  Margaret moved her shoulders and allowed the robe to drop to the floor, but she remained silent.

  Grayson whistled softly, “Oooh myyy!”

  “You like, mister?”

  “I like very much.”

  “And this woman. Does she look as good as me?”

  “You are two different species of human. Heaven forbid she should show pride in her looks. She wears big ugly glasses like that girl on television, Repulsive Betty or something. Her raspy butch voice grates on my every nerve.”

  “My eyes are up here, sir,” she teased.

  He ignored her and continued to enjoy the view, but couldn’t escape the day’s events. His voice soared to match the anger festering in him. “The damn woman is trying to save the world and believes her opinion is the only one that counts! I’ll be glad when this trial is over.”

  Margaret put a finger on his mouth. “Shush, my love. You’re going to wake up Amanda. When you were in combat, you put yourself in harm’s way to save others. You do the same as a cop. That woman sounds like someone hiding herself on purpose and needs understanding and support.”

  “Understanding and support my ass! Shannon Fisher needs a pop upside—”

  “Grayson Dean, you don’t mean that! You’ve never raised your hand against a woman and never would. Why don’t you put yourself in harm’s way, so to speak, and take a different attitude towards her? Maybe she’d respond to a positive approach. It might reduce your stress and give you more control when you deal with her.”

  “What in the world are you talking about?”

  “Baby, it’s obvious that she is concealing her true self. Focus on her difficulties instead of your disdain for her; you’ll be a better man for it. Make saving Shannon Fisher your mission. Whether you’re successful or not is irrelevant as long as you try.”

  Grayson’s eyes flashed. “Right now, I want to save Grayson.
”

  Margaret bent over, pressed her breasts to his chest, and gave him a deep kiss, quenching his hot anger. Unable to contain himself any longer, he reached around her waist and pulled her tightly to him.

  “Thanks for letting me get this off my chest. You’re the greatest wife a man could have. I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” she sighed as they gave in to their desires.

  Chapter 4

  Unnecessarily Dead

  Year 1

  While the tow truck driver winched the disabled Jaguar slowly onto its flatbed, Grayson steamed at himself. He recognized the stranded motorist immediately. Even from a distance, she was hard to miss. His first impulse was to hit the gas and keep moving, but his inherent Texas gentleman instinct kicked in, and being a cop to boot forced him to turn on the hideaway lights of his unmarked car and pull over to offer the driver a ride to safety.

  She signed the paperwork for the tow truck driver and plopped into his passenger seat, slamming the door as hard as she could.

  His clenched jaw made it obvious he was not happy. Except for a few minutes in court earlier that day, Grayson had enjoyed a week of peace without her obnoxious presence.

  Shannon Fisher’s butch voice grinded on his every nerve. “Thanks for coming to my rescue, Detective Dean.”

  “Put your seatbelt on,” Grayson growled. “Where do you want to go?” I know where I want you to go.

  Shannon clicked her seatbelt in place, a self-satisfied smile on her colorless lips. She enjoyed annoying white cops. They were all lowlifes.

  As the tow truck left, he pulled into the traffic on Cypress Creek Parkway with grim determination to get her out of his car as soon as possible.

  “Home, if you don’t mind. She gave him her address. I appreciate the ride. Larry, my husband, would have picked me up but he’s out of town.”

  His lips maintained a stern line. What man in his right mind would marry this witch?

  He stared straight ahead and remained silent. Her discomfort built until she couldn’t take it anymore and goaded him into talking. “Grayson, you’re still ticked off that I pulled your strings in court this morning, aren’t you? Made you sweat, didn’t I?”

  Her sweet sarcasm lit a fire in his belly. “That’s Detective Dean to you, Ms. Fisher. Yeah, you made me sweat, but I beat you and that scumbag, Sanchez, last week. Now, he’ll rot in prison.”

  Fury replaced her sweetness. She twisted toward him and, waving a finger too close to his face, spoke with undisguised anger. “You only arrested him because he’s an undocumented immigrant!”

  “Get your stupid finger out of my face! He’s an illegal alien dope dealer! Why can’t you accept that illegal aliens should be forced back to their own countries instead of being allowed to screw up America?”

  Her retort came instantly. “As a citizen of the world, Sanchez has every right to be here, and you have no right to take advantage of him! If you’d studied history, you’d know we stole this part of the country from Mexico.”

  “Evidently your history studies didn’t go back far enough. Otherwise, you’d know the Mexicans stole it from the Indians. If not for liberal-ass lawyers like you, we wouldn’t have this problem. Why in the world do you want illegals in America causing trouble?”

  Shannon bit her lip. “Can we drop this for the rest of the ride?”

  He thought of Margaret’s sweet voice and her astute counsel. It calmed him and his temper moderated. He took a deep breath and compelled himself into a softer tone. “So, we have differences, so did Caligula and his mother. You believe in what you’re doing; I believe in what I’m doing. That doesn’t mean we have to…hate each other.”

  “I’m not your mother, Detective!”

  No. Thank God, you’re not. Grayson shook his head. “Let’s bury the hatchet and get on with the business of getting you home.”

  “I’d rather be fierce enemies than have any type of business or other relationship with you or any other white racist cop!”

  Grayson turned to speak, but Shannon cut him off. “Don’t deny it, buster! Every study shows white cops profile and target nonwhites. It’s despicable; you’re despicable.”

  Grayson fought his instinct to defend himself and spoke through a tight jaw. “And every study shows white ACLU do-gooders profile and target whites, especially white men.” Margaret’s sensuous face flashed through his mind. He swallowed hard, lowered his voice a couple of octaves, and tried again. “Yet, I’d rather be friendly adversaries than deadly enemies, honestly.”

  Completely disarmed, her mouth worked to formulate a response. “You…you—”

  “Attention All Units. High-Speed Chase. Unit in pursuit. 2015 Blue Dodge Ram pickup. Northbound Lane on I-45 at Highland Cross Drive. Subject Carlos Murtadha with one unknown passenger. Murtadha is Wanted. He’s Armed and Dangerous.”

  The hairs on Grayson’s neck stood on end. Turning on his hideaway lights, he slammed the accelerator. The tires squealed and smoked when he made a U-turn at Imperial Valley Drive and headed the opposite direction on the parkway.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Shannon squealed.

  “Dispatch, this is Detective Dean entering North Freeway Services Road heading north in pursuit of Murtadha.” Grayson dodged cars exiting I-45 as he sped to find Murtadha.

  Shannon held onto the edges of her seat in a death grip. “Stop this car right this minute! You take me home! I didn’t sign on for a high-speed chase!”

  “Afraid, counselor?” Grayson’s eyes laughed at Shannon’s pallor, visible even under her heavy makeup. If I’m going to be fired, what better way than to scare the hell out of this bitch with an against-the-rules ride along. “This is what catching bad guys is all about. Hang on for the ride!”

  “Stop now, dammit! What’s wrong with you?”

  “Carlos Murtadha is Houston’s most wanted man. I sent him and his brother to prison over four years ago for beating one of his drug dealers almost to death when the guy failed to pay on time. Can’t believe you don’t know him.”

  Grayson whipped his car around a gray Ford minivan and skillfully maneuvered through heavy traffic.

  “The name sounds familiar.” Her anxiety escalated as their speed increased. “Stop this insanity and slow down!”

  Minutes later, Grayson spoke into the radio. “Visual on police unit and twenty-fifteen blue Dodge pickup.”

  He pulled in behind Joe Martin’s patrol car at Parramatta Lane. He was now second in line behind Murtadha. They followed Murtadha’s truck for miles when suddenly he careened left on the interstate ramp, Joe and Grayson on his tail.

  Murtadha zigzagged across the lanes on I-45 north. He drove the way he lived: wild and wanton, the interstate his malevolent playground.

  “So, the guy’s a drug dealer. That’s no reason to get us killed!” Shannon held her aching head and yelled at Grayson.

  “Oh, he does a lot more than sell drugs!” Grayson’s eyes never left the road. “A month ago, just after he was released and deported by ICE, Joe and I arrived at what we thought was a routine call and found a man bound with duct tape, a large crucifix shoved up his anus, and a butcher knife stuck in his chest. His head, frozen in horror, lay beside his body.”

  He jerked the car left and barely missed an elderly couple in a Lincoln. Entering a long stretch of open road, Grayson flung his words at Shannon. “Your friend and citizen of the world forced the guy to watch his wife and twelve-year-old daughter brutally gang raped, their throats slit, and their naked bodies tossed in front of him. We’re still wondering about his motive. Nothing makes sense about the case.”

  “What do you mean ‘my friend’? I don’t know this guy!”

  “You will, Counselor!” Grayson poured on the sarcasm. “This poor, mistreated, illegal alien took it a step further and decapitated the family’s cat and beautiful German Shepherd, leaving her litter of newborn puppies to die of starvation. Yeah. He’s your kind of client, all right.”

  “I don’t
believe you. I never heard about it.”

  “I’m not surprised. Your politically correct friends at the Chronicle refused to print the story. Seems the family was associated with one of the local mosques and the editor didn’t want to insult the sensibilities of Houston’s Muslim community. When I interviewed them, the editor and Imam both claimed First Amendment rights. Can’t get anything out of either of them.”

  Shannon gave him a dirty look through her now sweat-drenched caked-on makeup but offered no retort.

  “You don’t want me to tell you about the children we caught him selling to pedophiles for their sexual pleasures. The DA wouldn’t prosecute based on the skimpy evidence we had. You won’t have to worry about defending him. If I catch him alone, he won’t make it to court this time.”

  Bile rose in Grayson’s throat as ugly images penetrated the mental barriers he kept erected to shield his sanity. Suppressed memories of the sights and rank odor of death in that house forced themselves into his dreams, dreams that made him fear for Margaret and Amanda.

  Swerving erratically to avoid hitting a semi, the stench of vomit assaulted Grayson’s nose.

  “What the hell!” He shot a sideways glance at Shannon as she dumped the rest of her stomach on the floorboard.

  “You okay?”

  “Riding with a madman always makes me hurl.”

  Grayson’s foot jammed the accelerator. “You’re in this for the long haul, lady.” This bitch needs to understand who the men she tries to rescue really are.

  “How do you know it was this guy Carlos…whatshisname…that killed the family?”

  “The home security cameras caught the entire grisly event, including Murtadha laughing on his way out of the house. You bring the popcorn and I’ll show you the video.”

  Shannon leaned over the floorboard again.

  “Open your window before we choke to death!”